


A Gentleman's Agreement

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Clothing Porn, Decorum, Lacy Cuffs, Ladies and Gentlemen, M/M, Pocketwatches, Ties & Cravats, Victorian, Victorian Balls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a lady, preparing for a ball is a complicated process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gentleman's Agreement

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you x 1,000 to deadcellredux for beta reading, and who also gets full credit for Grell's amazing response to Will's last line. XD 
> 
> The pocketwatch is for her.

For a lady, preparing for a ball is a complicated process. There are the undergarments -- chemise, corset, bodice and petticoat -- and then the selection of the actual dress.

Unmarried women wear light colors that flatter their complexion and hair, so Grell has chosen a dress made of tulle in a very light, periwinkle blue, trimmed with ribbons.

Will is waiting patiently just next to the door, paying Grell no attention and studying his own suit cuff.

"Do I pass?" he asks, fluttering his eyelashes in the mirror and looking at Will.

"You always 'pass', Grell," Will says, raising an eyebrow minutely.

"William," Grell says, smiling from his vanity, "please do come and help me with my hair."

"Honestly, Sutcliff," Will says, frowning slightly, "I know nothing about coiffure that could possibly assist you. And we're going to be late." He pulls out his pocket watch and flips it open, the frown intensifying as he looks at the time.

"You know what they say about being fashionably late," Grell twitters, poking at a flower he's chosen and attempting to fasten it into his hair with a gold clip. Even Will is impressed by the intricacy of the hairstyle: a coil of braided red hair secured on top of his head, with tightly curled ringlets that hang down around his face. 

"And what is that, Sutcliff?" Will asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I don't bloody well know the _specifics_ , William. But it has the word 'fashionable' in it, so of course I find it to be a brilliant idea." He puts his nose in the air, adding, "If we arrive on time, the host and hostess should think I had nothing better to do than go to their tiny little party."

The curls bounce as Grell turns to look at Will with a disdainful expression.

" _Honestly_ ," he says, and his lips curve upward slightly, "would you wish such a thing on a creature as exquisite as myself?"

"For heaven's sake, Sutcliff," Will says, ignoring Grell's monologue and moving to stand behind him, "what _are_ you doing with that flower? It's nearly mangled."

He takes the flower and clip from Grell's fingers with a disapproving shake of his head. Grell just turns back to face the mirror with a satisfied smile on his face.

Will fastens it in carefully, just behind Grell's ear -- a young rosebud not quite opened.

Grell _finally_ rises and turns to face Will.

"How do I look?" he asks, smiling and twirling.

"You'll displace that flower of which you're so fond," Will says, pursing his lips. "Now let us depart."

Grell just smiles beatifically at him. "Oh Will, you're such a codger at only 60 years out of being a mere student."

Will holds out his arm grudgingly, and Grell raises his eyebrows.

"A gentlemanly thing to do, William," he says, batting his eyelashes as he takes Will's arm.

"You've been very well behaved as of late," Will says.

"The reason we're attending this event," Grell says.

Will pulls away, turning to look at Grell. Grell meets his gaze expectantly.

"You're wearing it that way?" Will points at Grell's hair.

"Of course, darling. Red is so much more ravishing than _brown_."

"You'd like to draw attention to yourself," Will says, eyeing the vivid red curls.

"Well, of _course_. It isn't often I get a night _out_ in the company of a gentleman as handsome as yourself, my lovely man."

Will frowns and grunts.

"You look very handsome, Will," Grell says, getting close. He pushes fingers encased in the white kid gloves he's donned over Will's black cravat, sliding down to the elaborate white shirtfront to brush over the buttons. 

"Well," Will says, clearing his throat, "this frippery you've forced upon me is... surprisingly comfortable, so I suppose..."

"Very handsome, indeed," Grell repeats, ignoring Will's words, and leans in to gently kiss his neck.

Will can't help the way his eyes slide shut, and just for a moment, he wraps two hands around Grell's waist, slides his fingers up the artificial curve created by the corset, and sighs.

"Well," he finally says, coughing a bit and drawing away, "I am a man of my word."

"And you have two invitations, so of course you would invite the most beautiful woman you know," Grell says, and blows a kiss at Will as he turns to check his appearance one last time. "And not a reap to be had, might I add! Although I do enjoy my work, it's quite lovely to go a human ball and simply dance, with you so nearby."

"Then let us depart, Sutcliff," Will says, turning away.

"Oh Will," Grell laughs softly, primping his curls. "You cold man. How late are we?"

"Fifteen minutes," Will says, checking his pocketwatch again.

"Well then," Grell says, straightening, "offer me your arm, and we shall certainly be on our way."

\-----

It is half eleven, and Will is listing in the refreshment room for as long as decorum will allow, staring at sandwiches and wishing for all the world that he hadn't consented to this. The ridiculous shoes that Grell has made him wear (to be fair, he _had_ requested information about what attire would be appropriate for such an event) are pinching his toes, and although reapers are immune to injury apart from scythe inflictions, they are quite susceptible to discomfort, hunger, and fatigue.

Will has only relieved of one of these things; though he must admit, the sandwiches are rather good.

Grell's dance card, on the other hand, has been full all night, and he is having a wonderful time. He's the ideal human socialite: full of vigor without vulgarity, full of stories without content, full of conversation without substance. Charming, beautiful, and absolutely ephemeral, never in a single place for more than a moment, or so it seems.

But, as Will knows, Grell's charade only lasts so long.

As the night wears on -- and it's a rather large party, so at first no one truly notices -- Grell's hair begins to slowly come undone.

It starts with the curls, as they slowly bounce out of shape from dancing, hanging around his face in vivid, mad streaks of red.

This is around the time that men begin to drunkenly propose to Grell in dark corners, where their families won't witness indiscretions and inheritances won't be threatened

Grell is currently dancing with one particular man (how he acquired a proper introduction, Will has no idea) from Devonshire, and he has focused on Grell for the evening. Grell seems to have taken a liking to him for whatever reason, and has stayed in his company for most of the evening.

It's becoming late, though not late enough for everyone to depart; but Grell's hair is hanging in loose strands down his back, coming undone now from the coil of braids, and people are beginning to stare. They hair is cascading down his bare shoulders, and when the man he's dancing with has the _audacity_ to tangle his fingers in it (inciting whispers and shocked stares), Will snatches Grell away at the end of the dance.

They move so quickly, no one really sees them -- just a swift flash, like a reap in the corner of one's eye.

He ushers them into an antechamber, and Will bolts the door.

"I don't want to go yet," Grell says, frowning at Will.

"Come here," Will replies in an embarrassed hush.

"Will," Grell says, and then takes a step forward to press himself against Will. "Will you dance with me?"

"I'll consider it if you promise to behave," Will finally says, taking a step back and pushing Grell away.

"Oh, William dear," he says softly, taking a step forward and draping his hand over Will's shoulder, "isn't that why we're here at all?"

Will just reaches out diplomatically to straighten the delicate sleeves of the dress that fall around Grell's shoulders, crooked now that he's been rather raucously dancing.

"Oh yes," he says in a low voice, somehow still feminine, "I've been so _good_ , William. And I'm afraid these other suitors will just _steal_ " -- his voice goes up two octaves -- "my honor."

"Stop it, Sutcliff," Will says, frowning. "Stand still, and turn around."

"Oh, _William_ ," Grell trills, but turns around nevertheless.

Will fixes Grell's hair and haphazardly pins it back up where it belongs; Grell just makes coquettish sounds the entire time. Will ignores him and smooths the curls around his face.

"Do I still pass?" Grell asks, his rouged lips curling slightly. He hasn't shown his teeth all night for obvious reasons, but he shows them now to Will. It isn't a feral expression so much as an eager one.

"Don't ask silly questions," Will says brusquely, adjusting his glasses. "You needn't gain my approval when you've spent the entire evening as you have."

"Do I look beautiful?" Grell asks, the smile still there.

"That's a rather subjective question," Will says, adjusting his tie self consciously.

"William," Grell rebukes, and reaches out to straighten Will's cravat, "I believe you've wound this tie a bit too tightly around your neck."

Will just makes a dismissive noise, but he catches Grell's hand before he can pull away.

"That color is complementary to your hair," he says bluntly. "Though I was rather surprised you didn't wear red."

"It's customary for unmarried women to wear the lightest colors," Grell says. "Although if you prefer, I _could_ make everyone here wear red! Oh, what a delightful idea, in fact!"

"No," Will says.

"The party to end all parties, William! All the guests clad in red _blood_!"

"No," Will repeats simply. "There are only a few hours left in the evening. Make the most of them and do what you will, Grell."

Grell presses his lips together again so his teeth disappear.

"Will you dance with me?" he asks again.

"Yes," Will finally acquiesces, "at the end of the night, if you've behaved yourself sufficiently."

When Grell leans forward to kiss Will on the mouth, he doesn't balk or draw back. He simply puts both his hands on Grell's bare shoulders and pulls him closer; their tongues slide against each other, and Grell sighs.

"Bitter and sweet," he exhales, "like sugar in black coffee."

Will makes an amused sound and steps back.

"The evening is almost over," he says simply, and opens the door to the antechamber. "Keep your hair where it belongs."

As they walk out in different directions so it doesn't appear as if they've been alone together, Will is also very aware that when the evening is indeed over, he probably won't see Grell again for the night.

He is correct, as Grell dances with the same man from Devonshire more times than polite human society would dictate is appropriate. And even when the last dregs of champagne and civilized society have been drained, and only a few are still dancing, Grell is as well.

Devonshire is about to annex London, and Will is tired of the entire affair.

He approaches Grell, keeping a polite distance, until Devonshire sees him.

"Yes, my good man?" he asks, his fingers illicitly dancing over bare shoulders as he places his hand against Grell's back.

"Grell," Will says plainly, "I am departing."

Devonshire actually has the good sense to look perturbed, even in his stupor, and turns to Grell. "Is this your husband?" he asks bluntly, his eyes wide.

"No, darling," Grell says, looking at Will. "He's..."

"I am not her husband," Will says, frowning. "She is a free woman."

Devonshire immediately relaxes, too preoccupied with relief to notice when Grell and Will's eyes meet.

Will just raises an eyebrow, looks at Devonshire, and then turns on his heel to leave.

"Will," comes Grell's voice, "please take care of this for me, darling. I no doubt shall lose it over the course of the evening," he says, ignoring Devonshire and stepping forward. In his hands is a gold clip.

Will accepts it; their fingers brush lightly, and Grell takes in a sharp breath.

"Good night," Will says, and leaves; he keeps the clip in his pocket.

\-----

These nights are always treacherous, and tonight is no exception.

Will collapses into his bed, resenting the late hour; he soothes himself with the knowledge that he will not have to put up with this nonsense for at least another few years.

The flat is cold, and he curls up in his blankets. The comb Grell bequeathed upon him is in the nightstand drawer, and he shakes his head thinking about it.

Best to sleep now.

Will finally does fall asleep, a dreamless, peaceful sleep, until he hears something in his bedroom.

It's unmistakable: the silhouette, the smell of lavender, and the fatigue.

Grell is there, uninvited, standing in the middle of the dark room. He takes a few unsteady steps toward the bed, and then stops.

Will studies him: the loose fabric of the dress, the distinct lack of layers under the dress that gave it volume.

"You let him..."

Grell just smiles at him. "He quite liked it until he got to the drawers."

"I see. Why are you here?"

"You like my skirts off," Grell says, and takes a few steps to gracelessly collapse on the bed. He shifts forward to kiss Will and gets his nose instead.

"Suiting, Sutcliff," Will says harshly as Grell's mouth bumps his nose. "You're intoxicated."

"Debauch me, Will," he says softly, trying to be seductive.

"Get out of my bed," Will says flatly, pushing him away. It's gentle, but firm. 

"Don't you think I'm beautiful?" Grell asks, but then mixes up the words. "You don't? Don't you?"

"No," Will says bluntly, "you smell like a distillery."

Grell actually manages to stand regardless that his dress is ripped.

"Very well," he says dramatically, flipping the parts of his hair that are loose, "I shall take my leave then." He takes two steps toward the door and trips over his dress, crashing to the floor with a sharp cry.

"You fool," Will says quietly as he gets out of bed and walks over to Grell. He helps him up, straightens his dress and pushes a few strands of hair away from his face and over his shoulder. "What did he do to you?"

"Are you to be my hero, William?" Grell swoons.

Will doesn't answer, just pulls the remaining clips from Grell's hair and lets it tumble down his back.

"That's _obscene_ , William," Grell slurs. "You... _hussy_."

Will laughs despite himself under his breath. 

"Turn around," he replies simply, and to his surprise, Grell simply complies.

He pushes the rest of the hair over one of Grell's shoulders; the back of his neck is a gentle curve that disappears under the tattered dress with its complex rows of eyelet buttons and intricate seams. 

"You can only touch me that way, William," Grell mumbles, "if we're married."

"I don't think your example sets a high moral standard," Will replies in kind. Despite his own reservations, he leans forward slightly to smell Grell's hair; it doesn't smell like alcohol or sweat, just a faint floral fragrance.

"What did he do to you?" Will asks again, finally drawing away.

"He ripped my dress," is all Grell finally says. "I'm afraid it can't be repaired."

"You are a reaper," Will says, " _they_ are humans." He rests his hands on Grell's shoulders gently.

"Well, he ripped my dress," Grell repeats in a huff, ignoring Will's comment. "He's a monstrous brute."

"I see," Will says simply. "Take it off."

" _Oh_ , William," Grell says, his voice playful, but he lets Will unfasten the buttons in the back.

Will undoes each one, watching as the blue fabric slowly parts and reveals the smooth line of Grell's back. It's ripped around his shoulders; a terrible mess. Grell steps out of it as it slips down his body, and Will drapes it over the back of a chair. Then he works on getting the bodice off, and begins to unlace the corset carefully.

"He didn't like what he found?" Will finally asks as gets to the last stay and pulls it apart, carefully placing it on a nearby table. For reasons he cannot quite recall, he knows that it's Grell's favorite. Grell stiffens when Will asks the question, and Will lets his hands linger at Grell's hips through the thin muslin chemise, settling there.

"No," Grell says after a moment, and then turns around to face Will. "How very provincial. Don't you agree, William?" Without further comment, he peels off the chemise too and lets it drop to the floor.

Will gets close and faces Grell. "Yes," he replies simply, then puts a hand on Grell's shoulder and directs him toward the bed. 

Grell collapses immediately and closes his eyes.

"Next time," Will says as he lies down next to Grell, "there will be no imbibing."

Grell grumbles something unintelligible before making more room for Will on the bed. He turns onto his side to look at Will, and Will meets his gaze.

"You didn't dance with me," Grell says after a few moments.

"Your card was rather full," Will says flatly, "and I am not fond of dancing."

Grell just makes a dismissive sound. "A pity, since human men are so _dull_ and unworldly," he sighs, as if in exasperation.

"You seem to find them entertaining enough," Will replies, a dour tone to his voice.

"Oh, don't be so dreary, Will."

"I would have danced with you," Will finally says, turning his head to look at Grell. "I would have honored the request."

Grell draws away slightly to meet Will's gaze.

"Kiss me," he says suddenly.

The stern, tired expression on Will's face doesn't change, but he does lean forward and kiss Grell on the mouth.

The first kiss turns into more kissing, which rapidly becomes sloppier as Grell makes a sound in the back of his throat, and Will reaches around to press one of his hands to the back of Grell's head.

Grell moans as Will slowly pushes him onto his back and kisses down the line of his jaw to his neck, stopping to bite and lick at his nipples.

" _Will_ ," Grell groans, arching his back. "You _do_ like me with my skirts off, do you not?"

"I do," Will admits, drawing away to turn onto his side and look at Grell, smoothing a hand down to rest at his hip.

"And you like me with skirts _on_."

"That is also acceptable," Will says.

"So in conclusion, you like me no matter _what_ I'm wearing. Or not wearing, darling," Grell says, a smug tone in his voice. "Oh _William_ , why ever did you not profess your love sooner? Our wedding will be everything I've dreamed! We can have--"

"I said no such thing, Sutcliff. I disapprove of most things that you do."

Ironically, the only person that William actually _does_ allow to sleep in his bed with him is Grell.

"I know you just can't possibly fathom a life without _me_ ," Grell says, his voice velvety and poking fun. "Is that what you're trying to say, Will?"

"I am not trying to _say_ anything other than what I have already plainly stated," Will replies objectively.

He's not quite expecting Grell's hot mouth against his neck, or how _very_ nice it feels.

" _Moan_ for me, you cold man," Grell demands in a hushed voice as he shifts to bite gently right at the juncture of his shoulder and neck in the exact place he knows Will likes.

Will gives in and moans low in his throat as Grell licks and bites and kisses at that sensitive place.

When he finally draws away, Will is breathing hard and has completely lost his composure; Grell gives him a downright lecherous smile with too many sharp teeth.

"Darling," he says, leaning forward to give Will a quick, ironically chaste kiss on the mouth. "You really are quite a difficult suitor."

"I'm not your suitor," Will says. Grell just laughs.

"Don't frown that way, William," he says, smoothing soft fingertips over Will's forehead, "you'll age your skin terribly."

"We don't age at all."

"That's beside the point, now isn't it? Skin care is not to be trifled with."

"I'll bear that in mind, Grell."

"That's positively scandalous, William," Grell whispers, an infuriating smile lurking in his voice, "calling a married woman by her first name."

"And what, pray, would your actual name be?"

"Spears nee Sutcliff," he says innocently. "Well, after the wedding of course."

"There will be no wedding."

"How you _wound_ me, William," Grell says with a flourish, drawing the back of his hand against his face, as if intending to faint.

Will just makes a dismissive sound, and Grell leaves it at that, having had the opportunity for his ongoing, nearly century-old one-man show. _Or one-woman show_ , Will's mind helpfully corrects.

But the warmth of Grell's body when he turns onto his side and curls up against Will is a welcome sensation. He lifts one long, smooth leg to drape across Will's hips and extends an arm over Will's chest lazily, pressing his face against a shoulder and making a contented, cat-like noise.

Will doesn't protest and just adjusts his body so Grell can be comfortable.

For all of his rules and regulations, stiff professionalism, and serious nature, Will enjoys indulging in simple, guiltless pleasures. And Grell Sutcliff's legs are one thing that Will quite enjoys, especially when they're pressed against or languidly draped over some part of him.

Will would not admit this even upon pain of being reaped; but he acknowledges it in his mind. He thinks Grell probably knows anyway, since it doesn't take a genius to sort through Will once you get used to him. And Grell has known Will for longer than anyone else in their division.

Will sighs. "It's late," he says simply. "I highly suggest we retire and--"

Grell isn't even listening because he's already asleep. It usually takes him longer, as if he's humming with so much energy he can't lie still, but he must have actually had a long night.

Will closes his eyes, but sleep doesn't come. Regardless of Grell's distinct ability to _rile_ him in ways no one else can, he finds sleeping in the same bed to be a desirable experience.

Tonight he's distracted though; even though the familiar smell of Grell's hair lies underneath, on the surface there is stench of alcohol and someone else's hands, touching Grell.

"I'll reap him," Will finally says softly, pushing his fingers through Grell's hair absently, "if I ever see him again." He's quite certain, to his own surprise, that he is sincere. 

There are a few minutes of quiet, and then suddenly, Grell mumbles, "Oh, darling, no need. I already did."

There are some nights, like this one, that Grell's cheek against Will's skin, silky hair against his fingertips, is enough to make him wait until the next day to reply.


End file.
